Demons
by wintryone
Summary: Hawke's tortured nights are much worse than the disasters facing her in Kirkwall. At least in this little one-shot they are. Hawke's dreams are haunted by a series of demons who are attempting to gain control of her power. Mage Hawke/Fenris/Anders/Sebastian - but not really ;)


_A/N I think I've attracted the Wicked Witch of the West as my muse, because I keep writing creepy one-shots :) I hope you enjoy this one, in the spirit of the season, short though it may be! _

_Thanks for reading!_

* * *

"What do you want of me?" her cracked voice was a moan laced with a sob.

"I want you to say _yes_," the sultry, silken voice replied. "Just that one simple word."

It was like this every night. A parade of demons would visit her dreams – would pull her into the Fade – to tempt her– to feed on her power– to offer her everything she had always wanted – everything that life had stolen from her. She wrenched against the chains that held her bound to the stone wall. "No," she growled. "I will not."

A long, tapered finger, the nail filed to a point as sharp as a knife, raked down her cheek, leaving a glimmering scarlet trail behind it. "Which one would you like?" the demon asked. "Each one has… _unique_ qualities…"

Hawke's cheek burned where the desire demon had touched her, and she jerked her head away from the offensive caress. She knew she was in the Fade now, knew that there would be no wound when she awoke in the morning. The only visible scars would be the perpetually dark circles under her eyes from too many sleepless nights.

"Personally, I have a fondness for the elf," the demon purred into her ear, her hot breath like the lick of a flame along her tender skin. "He was so very well endowed, wasn't he?"

An image arose in her mind to accompany the demon's words, and it made her gasp from its startling clarity. Fenris was poised above her, calling her name, his malachite eyes seemed to bore into her very soul. A deep longing filled her, one that she had struggled against for years, ever since that night - the night in which she had both found Fenris, and lost him. Hawke pulled again at the chains. "Release me!" she screamed.

"Ah my sweet Hawke," the demon said. "Thoughts of the slave upset you? We cannot have that." The creature lifted her arms and ran her hands slowly along the length of her curved horns, as her hips gyrated sensually. "What of the mage? The one so deliciously possessed? I can give him to you, instead," she breathed.

Another image, this one was of Anders - his hands cradled her face, as his lips pressed soft kisses along the plane of her cheek and down to her mouth, where he laved her lips in honeyed sweetness. So much kindness, and so gentle, she'd thought she might lose her heart to him; such was his seeming care of her. She knew she must dispel the demon's illusion, and so Hawke forced an image of Ella's corpse into her head; the sweet mageling girl, broken on the cold stone, and dead by the hand of Justice.

The demon screeched in protest.

This creature of the Fade had thought to tempt her with the desires of her flesh, because she wanted Hawke's power – the mana that coursed through her mage's blood. If only the demon knew the true desire of her heart, Hawke might then be afraid. There was one thing that would make her say _yes_ to anything.

None of them had offered her that one thing, and for that she was grateful.

The demon did not, however, relent in her attempts. "Oh my sweet Hawke," she said as she brought her mouth inches away from Hawke's face. "Your blood runs cold at the thought of the abomination. We cannot have that." The demon pushed her clawed fingers into Hawke's hair and held her fast. "We could rule a country, you and I. You could be Princess… the priest already desires you. Just the slightest push…"

"No," Hawke said yet again, her voice hardly human anymore. It was the low guttural sound a beast would make. "No," she repeated and averted her face.

The nails dug into her scalp and Hawke could not prevent the scream that erupted from her throat. This time, however, she could not stop. She screamed and screamed and screamed, until her voice was broken and her legs gave way beneath her.

"Bitch," snarled the demon, no longer playing nice. "I will have you, it is only a matter of time…"

_Not this night_, Hawke thought as she felt the weight of the chains fall away from her wrists, and the voice of the demon slowly dissolved away into nothing. _Not this night._

Not one of them – not hunger, nor sloth, nor desire, and certainly not rage – had ever offered her the one simple thing for which she would trade her very soul.

They had not offered to love her.

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_Beta'd by the talented Liso66 - thank you!_

_Let me know what you think :) _


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